


Breathing in Stardust

by Love_Letter



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 08:51:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11460198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_Letter/pseuds/Love_Letter
Summary: When Kurt first entered Ellen's Stardust Diner on the corner of W 51st St and Broadway, he expected mediocre musical numbers and poor quality food. He did not expect to fall in love.





	Breathing in Stardust

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post to AO3 so I apologize for any formatting mistakes. If you spy any typos let me know that too! I am trying to catch them as I move and edit my fics over from good ol' LJ.

 

* * *

 

The first time Kurt went to Ellen’s Stardust Diner, it was the afternoon after he’d told Isabelle his future plans. “Have you ever been?” She’d asked, and at his negative head-shake, she’d clapped her hands and decided, “We’ll go there today for lunch.”

He’d read about the restaurant on New York City forums, knew it sat on the corner of W51st Street and Broadway, neighbors with the theater currently housing _Mama Mia!_ and across the street from Carnegie Hall. It was a place for Broadway-hopefuls to sing their hearts out while working part-time, most of the waitstaff students. Not very far from the Vogue headquarters in Times Square, it was surprising he hadn’t been there, but could not deny Isabelle’s claim that it was the perfect place to retreat to for the hour lunch they were allotted.

That wasn’t to say Kurt intended to eat more than once at the Stardust Diner. As much as he loved Broadway, he 1) wasn’t a fan of overachieving karaoke, and 2) did not want to hear what his competition sounded like on The Great White Way.

He didn’t care for diner food’s effect on his skin either. The greasy meals were a nightmare to cope with, on both the internal and external fronts. He’d eaten at one diner by his and Rachel’s apartment in Bushwick for breakfast recently; he’d regretted it less than an hour later.

In short, Kurt expected mediocre musical numbers and poor quality food.

He did not expect to fall in love.

 

* * *

  


Their waitress was a heavy-set blonde whose name tag read “Shirley Star.” She sat them at their table while pining out the closing lines of _Somewhere That’s Green_ , and after taking their drink orders, moved to check on the next table. Kurt took the time Isabelle was examining the menu to look around.

There were two floors, the lower of which he was seated in, the higher of which wrapped around the lower like a balcony. To the far back right was the karaoke machine, and between the long winding center booths was a stage. Well, if you could call it a stage. It was hardly a six-inch wide strip of ledge, and he only mentally dubbed it as such because there was someone standing on it belting his lungs out. He wondered if any of the servers had ever fallen off and onto guests…

“Pick anything you want, lunch is on me.” Isabelle said, closing her menu.

Kurt tried to decline the offer, but she refused to listen, and with some trepidation he looked at the prices. A bit pricey, but nothing outrageous for NYC. His hour lunch would more-or-less cost an hour’s pay.

It was after they placed their orders that Kurt’s attention was truly grabbed by a performer. He was up on the “stage” rocking out to Pink’s “Raise Your Glass.” Slicked back black hair, rich voice, smooth while space-limited dance moves— his style matched the 50’s chic of the diner perfectly. Isabelle praised him with a simple, “He’s cute.”

Kurt could think of other words.

In the lull between verses, he ad-libbed, “Anyone have an empty glass? Raise your hand, we do re-fills.” He laughed at his own joke and Kurt laughed with him.

When the food arrived, it was nothing spectacular, although Kurt felt it didn’t sit quite as heavy in his stomach as the last diner’s meal had. Still, the atmosphere of the restaurant might have helped his digestion. He was comfortable, surrounded by live music, and before they left, the cute waiter sang again.  


This time it was Broadway, a song from _Thoroughly Modern Millie._ He sang the number not on stage, but dancing his way through tables. “ _Oh, the places I would like to show you, although I hardly know you_ …”  


He was passing their table when he crooned the opening lines, turning his amber hued gaze on Kurt with a heartbreaking, wistful smile that successfully stole the young intern’s breath away. “ _I have a funny feeling we’d make a perfect pair. Famous sights I wanna see you seeing. The nights of you and me-ing. Me, you, we_ …” He feigned shock at his own words, shaking his head and turning away to face another table. “Wait a minute. Just a minute. No, no, no, no—”  


Isabelle kicked at Kurt under the table with a huge grin. Kurt tried not to blush and gave her what he hoped was a warning glare. The music picked up and his favorite performer scooted into a booth with a party of besotted teenage girls. They squealed at the attention and giggled when he put his arms around them.

It wasn’t until the end of the song that he came near enough to their seats for Kurt to catch the name pinned to his black and pink polo shirt: Bombastic Blaine. Kurt might’ve snorted, but when he looked up, Blaine was staring at him again. He winked. _Winked._ Then sang up into the last line, “ _But now I’ve got it bad_!” He held the note an impressive length and bowed to fervent applause.

Isabelle whooped enthusiastically. Kurt was a much too muddled combination of shocked and thrilled to do anything other than gape openly.

 

* * *

 

The second time Kurt went to the Stardust Diner, it was a week later and again with a team from Vogue, a few younger people bored and tired of bagged lunches. He didn’t exactly know everyone, but was saved from awkward conversation by the sheer volume of the diner’s music.  


A _Wicked_ cover. Italian Opera that could have been off one of Josh Groban’s albums. A song he vaguely recognized but couldn’t identify. Then, finally (not that he was waiting or looking for him or anything) a familiar voice started up Katy Perry’s, “Teenage Dream.”  


It might have been wishful thinking on his part, but Kurt thought Blaine glanced his way a few times. There was something almost too intense about the brief eye-contact, a shock so strong it made his heart skip a beat, and if he looked down at his salad with red cheeks and palpitations, well…  


Blaine seemed to have a thing for Top 40 hits. He sang two more pop songs that hour.

 

* * *

 

The third time he went, he took Rachel. He tried not to hope for Blaine to be their waiter, but was still disappointed when a different man came to take their drink order.

The first song they heard that evening was from _Les Mis_ . Rachel scoffed, muttering about the girl being off-pitch and an insult to the role, and, “I could do so much better. Kurt, while I appreciate you taking me out, I didn’t need the self-esteem boost and, really, nothing vegan? I’m going to go mad with hunger and take away her mic. Show her how it should be sung.”  


“Rachel, please.” He rolled his eyes. The outing was not going as planned.  


“What?”  


“Just. Don’t.”  


She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him her signature pout. He couldn’t bring himself to humor her. Picking up the menu, he found something that suited their dietary needs and resigned himself to further exhaustion. Naturally, each song earned the NYADA student’s criticism.  


Towards the end of their meal and the end of a song, the waitress winding down introduced her relief, “And now we’ve got Bombastic Blaine coming onto his shift, opening the night with _Silly Love Songs._ ”  


“Feel free to sing along!” The warm voice he’d anticipated came across the speakers.  


If Rachel didn’t notice Kurt’s delighted smile, she certainly noticed how he twisted around in his seat to get a better look at the man tiptoeing across the stage.

Blaine was, in Kurt’s totally unbiased opinion, perfect. The way he sang, the way he interacted with his audience— that night he wooed and danced with an adorable set of twin girls no more than five years old— just, everything. Everything was perfect. And it was so worth sitting through Rachel’s unpleasant commentary the last forty minutes just to hear the words “ _I love you_ ” come sweetly from those lips.  


When the song ended, and Kurt sat properly facing forward, there was a knowing expression on his friend’s face. “Looks like someone’s got a crush,” she teased.  


He didn’t deny it.  


When the Tips bucket came around, Rachel donated twice as much as Kurt. At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged her shoulders. “They just really need those lessons, is all.”

 

 

 

That night Kurt hummed _Silly Love Songs_ while doing his nighttime skin care regimen.

 

* * *

 

The fourth time he went to the Stardust Diner, he didn’t actually go inside. He saw Blaine leaving, his slicked back hair unmistakable, dressed in a stylish light jacket for autumn. He was looking down at his phone, and before he could look up, Kurt ducked around the corner, heart beating wildly in his chest.

He wanted to say something, do something, even if it was just smile or wave, but he was stuck, too scared and self-conscious. Blaine didn’t know him. He wouldn’t remember him. He probably wasn’t even _gay._  


No, that stopped being an excuse when he left small-town Ohio. Blaine was clearly wearing a designer coat, he was perfectly groomed, and auditioning for Broadway shows— if he wasn’t gay, he was possibly bi, and definitely open-minded enough not to be offended, but flattered by another guy’s interest in him.  


So, biggest excuse wasn’t an excuse; he should make a move. Kurt shook his head, gathered his nerve, and decided to go for it. He took a deep breath and peeked around the edge of the building…  


But Blaine had already crossed the street, phone to his ear. So much for that.  


Kurt skipped lunch. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

 

* * *

 

The fifth time he went, it was for dinner. He’d had a long stressful day and he really needed a break. If he went home straight after work, he thought he might murder Rachel. She’d been harassing him via text message between all his deadlines and meetings, and he didn’t trust either one of them not to snap the second he walked in the door.  


The hostess lead him upstairs, which was a first for him, and sat him at a table next to the balcony railing. It promised to be a nice view. She gave him his menu, silverware, and said someone would be around to take his order shortly.  


The second floor was less crowded, less noisy. He could already feel the sharp edges of his irritation being sanded down. The waitress singing _In My Own Little Corner_ had a lovely voice. He no longer had to look at the menu. He propped his chin up in his palm, fingers cupping his cheek, and looked down, unable to stop himself from searching for that familiar helmet of hair.  


“I see you’re in the mezzanine today.”  


Kurt startled to attention, blue eyes wide as they met honey-gold. Blaine was there, pad and pen in hand, smiling brightly at him. “I—” He stumbled on his words, earning him a good-humored chuckle, so he gave up on sentences and offered, “Hi.”  


“Hi.” Blaine returned. “I was hoping I’d get to be your waiter some day.”  


“You were?” Kurt squeaked, flustered.  


“Of course,” he winked (that stupid wink, Kurt wouldn’t survive the night) and put a hand on the back of Kurt’s chair, “You’re, well,” he lost his bravado for a moment, almost embarrassed by his confession, “You’re kind of the most gorgeous guy to ever walk in here. Every time I see you, I try a little harder to sing my best.”  


“You’re lying.” It couldn’t be true. His crush couldn’t possibly be crushing on him too.

“I’m not!” He laughed and defended himself, “I don’t know you, but I want to impress you.”  


How was his life real?  


“So,” Blaine clicked the pen point out, “Tell me what you want to eat. I’ll make sure Johnny cooks it perfect. And tell me what you want to hear, because I’ll sing you anything.”  


“You do requests?”  


“We all do.” He answered, “But I’m not sure this counts, me requesting you to request and all.”

“Oh.” Kurt sat up a little straighter in his chair, “I, um. The vegetarian lasagna.”  


He wrote it down. “And the song?”  


“Surprise me.” He couldn’t think of one on the spot.  


“Aw, come on. That’s not fair.”

Kurt laughed. “It’s perfectly fair. Impress me with your selection.”

“No pressure,” he kept his smile, “and one more question.”  


“Yes?”

“Your name?”  


“Kurt,” he offered his hand for a formal greeting, “Kurt Hummel.”  


Blaine’s hand was warm, his handshake firm. “Blaine Anderson. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“ _Enchanté_.”

 

The food was, as promised, cooked as best as it could be. Definitely better than the last time he’d ordered it, but maybe everything would taste better with Blaine serving it. He winked an, “Enjoy” before retreating to the main floor and Kurt knew he was going to put in his song selection.

Blaine was not actually real, Kurt decided, once the music started.  


“ _My gift is my song, and this one’s for you_ , Kurt.”

 _Your Song_ , the arrangement from _Moulin Rouge._ He even had the opera guy singing backup. Kurt could have cried. He might have. He totally did the moment Blaine made eye-contact with him up on that ridiculous six-inch stage.  


“ _I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you’re in the world_ .”  


Yep, Kurt was confident by the time Blaine belted out those ending notes, that he was dead. He must have been hit by a bus in Times Square because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried from happiness.  


When Blaine finished, he just about darted up the stairs. Out of breath and smiling with just a touch of nervous fidgeting, he took in Kurt’s pleased smile. “If it’s not too presumptuous,” he began, “I get off my shift in fifteen minutes. I know a little bakery not too far from here that serves the best cheesecake in town. Any chance you’d mind waiting and we could go together?”  


Kurt couldn’t bring himself to play hard-to-get. “You sang me _Your Song_ and now you’re offering me cheesecake,” his face hurt from smiling, “How could I refuse?”

Blaine seemed to take his acceptance in stride, but Kurt saw him wiggling around like an excited puppy-dog the second his feet hit the main floor. He was doing a victory dance. Kurt laughed at the dorky behavior, but refrained from judging; he’d be flying if he could, walking on clouds, and breathing in stardust.

 


End file.
